


Be as you've always been (lover be good to me)

by Trifoliate_undergrowth



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Alcohol, Body Worship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Scars, Sign Language, Touch-Starved, does this count as, mildly spicy kissing, nonverbal Gordon, post-stasis HL2 reunion stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29776395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trifoliate_undergrowth/pseuds/Trifoliate_undergrowth
Summary: Barney's body has changed over the past 20 years. Gordon takes stock.
Relationships: Barney Calhoun/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	Be as you've always been (lover be good to me)

He’s learned to be grateful for the little things in a world this out of control. A room to himself, a moment of quiet to get out of his blood-soaked uniform coat, a basin of clean water. No mirror, but that wasn’t such a loss. He barely looked at himself anymore, and maybe that was better, when he was so often covered in the blood of innocents.

It had been a beatdown day. Had to pick a random block and raise hell for the citizens there every so often, just to keep them cowed. He’d been telling himself for so long that he almost believed it, that some other CP officer would fill his place if he weren’t there, and would hit harder, and never clumsily let go of a prisoner and let them outrun his deliberately slow pursuit; that his friends needed him where he was, that the Resistance needed him where he was if they were going to stay on top of the Combine, but it all felt like flimsy excuses when he was out there beating an old man’s face in for not moving fast enough. It was his hand on the baton. His uniform soaking up the blood.

He splashed water on his face, washing off the sweat that built up under the mask, hands slow and careful over the sore spot. One of the citizens had clocked him good right on the jaw in the few seconds before he stunned them. He _really_ couldn’t blame them, but. He’d hesitated to give them time to get away, and instead the idiot punched him, and now they were both in pain.

He brushed his hair out of his face. Seemed like it always needed to be cut. No one really saw it that often, with the mask, so he tended to forget about it until it was falling in his eyes. Alyx had made an extreme sport of trying to shame him into taking better care of it for a few years, but at some point had apparently decided he was hopeless and just offered him one of her headbands. He’d considered it.

Funny, how she’d changed over the last few years. She was Gordon’s age now. It made him feel old. Never mind Gordon himself, currently talking with Kleiner in the other room. Part of the reason he was lurking back here still, taking his time, trying to clean up. He didn’t _not_ want to see Gordon. But his clothes were covered in blood. And. Gordon hadn’t changed.

They still hadn’t talked about it. He knew the basics—Gordon had been spirited outside of time and kept in stasis for 20 years; Gordon was almost as confused about it as they were. Gordon knew he was undercover in Civil Protection, and considering what Barney had to pull to get him alone and give him a chance to escape, he could probably piece together what a shitty job that was. But they hadn’t had the time for a personal conversation.

Gordon was exactly the same. It hadn’t been 20 years for him, or even 1 year. He’d fallen asleep at Black Mesa and then somehow he woke up here, with no memory of the time he’d lost. It must be unbelievably disorienting. He probably needed someone to talk to. But.

He’d never really believed all that stuff about The Free Man’s inevitable return. The Vorts believed in a kind of reincarnation, he figured they were just extending a version of this to their savior. Understandable, but he’d never really believed that Gordon Freeman, in the flesh, was literally going to return from the dead and save humanity a second time. But here he was, in the flesh, back from the dead, and he hadn’t aged a moment in 20 years, and honestly if all that was possible then maybe everything else was true too, all the hero worship that had sprung up around the memory of a man he’d thought was never coming back. Maybe he _was_ the smartest man ever born. Maybe he _was_ chosen for this task before time itself. Maybe he _did_ shine with vortessence to those with the eyes to see it. He’d known him, once, a long time ago, or thought he had, but Gordon Freeman had died and he’d mourned him and learned to live without him, and now suddenly this hero had returned, shining with all the hopes and dreams of humans and aliens alike and apparently aided by unknown supernatural entities who could stop time. The Gordon he remembered was kind of a dumbass, big brain considered, loved being competitive about the stupidest shit (like how fast he could get through the vents, like how fast he could shotgun a beer,) talked about aliens a lot (back when aliens were still a myth), was entirely _human_. Just… some guy. He was special to Barney, because he was _his_ guy, but it wasn’t like this. Everyone in the world knew his name now. He’d become a messiah. A symbol.

Barney wasn’t sure what scared him more, the idea that Gordon had really changed, or that he really _hadn’t_ , that he was just the same as he’d been 20 years ago—a mere moment, for him. How well did he remember that version of Gordon? He could barely remember _himself_ from 20 years ago. He’d been so much younger. He’d been carefree and kind of dumb and far happier than he realized, he thought. There was a lot he hadn’t survived yet. The Black Mesa incident, the portal storms, the 7-hour war; it had been a miracle to survive even one of these things and he’d made it through all 3 and managed to keep his cover in Civil Protection for about 15 years after that. He’d almost managed to forget Gordon. He’d tried to. And now here Gordon was—exactly the same, except for the haircut, as the last time he’d seen him at Black Mesa, waving from the tram on what they both believed to be a completely normal day at work. It made him dizzy just to think about.

So he hung back, because he wasn’t sure what to say to him, where to even begin. If time had really stopped for him, then in Gordon’s head they’d been planning a date just yesterday. Barney had had 20 years to think about that, mourn what had never happened, and try to get over it. He thought he’d done pretty well, all things considered. Except, he was wrong, and now Gordon was _back_ , and. What did he remember, really? Did everything feel the same for him? He couldn’t possibly feel the same, it would give him whiplash just to look at Barney now, never mind fully comprehend the amount of time and experiences that separated them. He almost didn’t want to look at him, but then, when he was in the room he couldn’t keep his eyes away, either. And it was confusing, and he needed a break.

He gently probed the bruise on his chin, testing the extent of the pain. He’d had worse. It was a weak punch, they didn’t feed the citizens nearly enough. One good reason to join Civil Protection. Not that the food they got was _good_ by any pre-war human standards, but there was plenty of it. He picked up the towel—nice, clean towel, one more thing to be grateful for—and dried his face and hands slowly, avoiding the bruise. It was when he was turning to put it down that he noticed a person standing just at the edge of his vision. He dropped the towel in his rush to assess the threat, spinning, fists raised.

Gordon raised his hands and eyebrows in the universal “woah there, not a threat” gesture.

Barney wheezed in shock and relief and slight panic. Here he was, stripped to the waist and still smelling of blood, convinced he was avoiding The One Free Man while he was just standing there for—how long had he been standing there?! Why didn’t he hear him come in? Right, he’d forgotten how quietly Gordon walked. This had been a common occurrence, once. Turn around, bump into your boyfriend who’d appeared silently out of thin air. He used to make a cute little surprised noise when he was bumped into. Somehow he never learned to announce his presence. Or maybe that was how he liked to do it. By just letting Barney crash into him. That usually resulted in a hug at least, so he doubted he’d given him much incentive to change.

“Ha, hey there, savior of humanity!”

Gordon laughed, so that weird-ass greeting must not have been too bad. “Sorry,” he signed.

“Oh, it’s fine, I just didn’t expect you to be there.” Barney made a show of catching his breath, hand on his chest. “Uh, what’s up, does Kleiner want me?”

“No,” Gordon signed.

“Why’d you come in here?”

“I was watching you,” he signed without hesitation, green eyes locked on his own.

God, if that didn’t make him feel something. He wasn’t even sure what, anymore. A lot of different somethings, actually. Some of it was just sadness. He didn’t think this was happening, he wasn’t convinced it should happen, why _now_?

“Is that alright?” Gordon signed after a moment when he didn’t respond. “I’ll leave if you like.”

“No. I’m… not really used to having you around anymore. But you don’t have to go.”

Gordon nodded and stepped closer. He’d finally gotten out of that damned citizen’s uniform and was wearing what looked like some of Kleiner’s spare clothes, the t-shirt too small for him and stretched tight across his shoulders. He did look radiant, maybe the vortessence thing was true. Or Barney was still gay as hell. He tried not to stare, but he wasn’t sure where to look, especially as Gordon came closer and touched his shoulders, moving him to the side. He wasn’t sure why for a few moments, then, as Gordon paced slowly around him and he felt his breath on his back, he realized it was so he had room to walk around him.

Gordon completed the circuit slowly, tracing a hand across his back and then down his side, feeling the extra weight he’d put on. He hovered in front of him, eyes raking over his body like it was a new world to discover. Barney stood very still, almost afraid to breathe. Gordon took his hand and lifted it, examining the pattern of scars scattered across his knuckles, then kissed one. Then he looked up. Barney was frozen, and Gordon apparently wasn’t sure how to interpret that. He dropped one hand to sign “this OK?”

Barney swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I… that’s nice.” He shifted his hand to curl around Gordon’s. “Don’t stop.” 

Gordon pressed Barney’s hand to his face, then, with careful calculation, pressed a kiss to each scar. Then, up the outside of his arm, the scars from the time he’d been knocked out of a moving car during the portal storms. The pockmark on the back of his shoulder where the Combine had injected him with drugs, supposedly to lessen his inhibitions for killing, though he hadn’t noticed any difference, which meant either it was a placebo or his heart couldn’t get any harder. He wondered if Gordon wanted to know the story for that one. If he’d still kiss it if he knew. Then, oddly enough, he wished he had more scars, because Gordon moved across his back without finding another. But then he brushed Barney’s hair from his neck to uncover the faded scar behind his ear, one he barely remembered getting, from falling down when he was a child, and when Gordon kissed it Barney remembered a thousand other kisses at this spot, and Gordon had remembered—but of course he’d remembered, it had only been yesterday for him—

The chemical burns on his right hand were some of the newest. Kleiner was remarkably lax about lab safety, and also seemed to assume that Barney knew what he was doing there, which he absolutely did not—he’d offered to help the old guy move heavy stuff if necessary and somehow ended up becoming his lab tech, which he was _not_ qualified for. Gordon took his time, finding all the little splashes of damage, the other scars on his knuckles, the cut on his thumb from trying to open a beer with a crowbar while incredibly drunk—Gordon had actually been there to witness that one; he’d kissed it then, too, after bandaging it, though he really shouldn’t have rewarded stupid behavior. He even found the small scar on his wrist where the restraints had pinched him during one of the dreaded Combine medical exams. The pockmark on his upper arm from a normal human vaccine.

Gordon stepped back a little to sign “Which ribs did you break?”

Barney laughed softly, almost too breathless for it. “I don’t remember, I think these? Gordon you can’t—” he wheezed with happy laughter as Gordon mashed his face into his side—“You can’t kiss _bones_ —” yes he could, apparently. “God, okay, I also cracked my collarbone a few years back.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

He swore he could feel the place where his bone had healed when he touched it. He reached for Gordon, to pull him up into a proper kiss, but he slipped down, wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed the slash on his stomach where a desperate citizen had shivved him; he’d pushed them away and pretended not to feel it, knowing the punishment for attacking a CP officer and not wanting to see it enforced. But then he hadn’t had time to bandage it, and it had bled for a long time, and taken longer to heal, and again he wondered how Gordon would feel if he knew the story behind the scar, but he didn’t, and he slowly kissed down the length of it and then rested his head against his belly, and Barney ran a hand through his hair—it might take him a bit to get used to Gordon with short hair, but it did look good on him, he had a hard time imagining any haircut that wouldn’t look good on him. And Gordon nuzzled into him and stayed there for a few moments before standing back up, and again Barney tried to kiss him, and Gordon stopped him with a hand on his lips. Right, more scars.

The last one on his chest, he’d almost forgotten about until Gordon ran his fingers over it. The Combine brand, nestled just below his collarbone on the left. And Gordon had to know what this one was, at least, he’d seen the symbol all over the city. He held his breath for a moment as Gordon hovered over it, and he wanted to tell him to just ignore it, like he tried to—but then the One Free Man, the Combine’s anti-citizen one, bent and pressed his lips to the brand and Barney’s breath caught in his chest. Gordon lingered over it, kissing each of the three sections in the symbol individually, then straightened up and looked him in the face.

“Gordon,” he breathed, and again Gordon held him back, then gently tilted his chin up and kissed the bruise on his jaw. Barney wondered if he could feel his pulse pounding in his throat. Gordon stroked the stubble on his cheek, then kissed the scar below his half-blinded left eye, two kisses to cover the full length of it, then kissed the eyelid of his damaged eye for good measure.

He wasn’t sure for a moment if he was done then, too dazed to remember how many scars he had, but Gordon pulled back and smiled at him and didn’t stop him when he leaned in, and he kissed him on the lips—and it was the same but different, he’d never felt quite like this, but he _knew_ this, he knew the touch and the taste of him, the way he melted into his arms. And perhaps he had a bit of an advantage for now, because he knew Gordon hadn’t changed, and he still knew exactly what he liked.

**Author's Note:**

> this kiiinda technically qualifies as a "lyric title Freehoun whump fic" but 1. its not really whump its mostly just softe and 2. I want the fics in that series to take place in the same universe and this one is not going to jive with other later stuff I've got planned for that specific series (if I ever get there) ANYWAYS title from "Be" by Hozier because goddamn does he get the "love as a form of reverence and also there's an apocalypse going on" vibe   
> COMMENTS VERY MUCH LOVED AND TREASURED even if I don't get around to responding   
> ANYWAYS YES KISS HIM KISS THE MAN   
> I think my favorite sequence of words in this is "normal human vaccine" it makes sense in context, u gotta clarify, as opposed to Fucked Up Combine Drugs, but like. "normal human vaccine" just cracks me up when I look at it I love those stupid words  
> just a Normal Human Vaccine u know. just. a Normal Human Vaccine   
> I was so tempted to throw in a line about "unlike the Combine drugs, Normal Human Vaccine has absolutely zero chance of mind-controlling you, regardless of the what the conspiracy theorists say!"


End file.
